


JUNKYARD DOG

by SupernaturallyEgocentric



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturallyEgocentric/pseuds/SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if John hadn't raised the boys? What if their childhood had been entirely different? What would their lives be? What would Sam and Dean be like? This is my take on it. Hope you-all like it.</p>
<p>At the beginning of our story, Dean is eight, Sammy is four, and John is missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

OOOOOOOOOO

 

There was a brisk knock at the door and Dean peeked out the window, sheltered by worn curtains. Crap. The motel manager again.

Another knock, harder this time.

Keeping the chain on, he opened the door a crack and peeked outside. "My dad's not here," he said politely. "You have to come back tonight."

Jessie Caldwell sighed. "That's what you told me yesterday, kid. Then when I knocked last night, no one answered the door."

Dean smiled at her, all angelic innocence. "Dad took us to the movies last night. Sorry we missed you."

Jessie studied the boy with narrow eyes. She'd been managing the Averyville Bide-a-While for almost seven years. During that time she'd had every line of bullshit known to man thrown at her. This particular line wasn't new, but it was the first time that it had been thrown at her by a kid and it was starting to freak her out.

Trying to ignore the puppy dog eyes being leveled at her, Jessie said firmly, "Look, kid, your dad's already two weeks behind on the rent. I need to talk to him. You let him know that if he doesn't come up with the cash, or a really good reason why I shouldn't kick his butt out of here, he needs to come see me. Today. Okay?"

Dean nodded, sincerity oozing out of every pore. "I'll be sure and tell him."

She looked at him for another long moment, then turned away and went back to the office.

Dean shut the door gently, fighting against the icy ball of fear in his stomach.

She knew.

Or, at the very least, suspected. If Dad didn't come home by tonight, she'd be calling the cops. And if the cops came, the local child protection people wouldn't be far behind.

Dean didn't know much about CPS, but his dad had warned him - many times - that if they came, they'd take him and his brother away, and they'd never see their father again. Even worse, they'd probably separate Dean and Sam.

No. No.

Dean thrust a shaking hand through his hair. He couldn't let that happen. The thought of his little brother being taken away from him, of not being able to take care of him, protect him – no!

No matter how mad Dad was when he finally got back, Dean couldn't wait any longer. He had to do something. And he had to do it now, before it was too late.

There was a sudden patter of little feet behind him. "G'morning, Dean!"

Dean turned around to see Sam, clad in ragged footed pajamas, looking up at him with wide, solemn, trusting eyes. Banishing the worried look from his own face, Dean smiled and tousled his little brother's hair affectionately, and was rewarded with a wide, gap-toothed grin.

"Hey, Sammy. You ready for some breakfast?"

"Lucky Charms?" Sammy said hopefully.

Dean nodded and Sam ran ahead of him into their room's kitchenette. Stretching up on tiptoe, the little boy grabbed two bowls and a couple of spoons out of the dish drainer, set them on the table and then climbed up onto his chair, looking at Dean eagerly.

Dean took the nearly empty cereal box out of the cupboard and filled Sammy's bowl. He poured the last of the milk over it and sat down at the table, watching as his brother started to eat.

After a minute, Sam paused and looked at Dean questioningly. "Aren't you gonna have any, Dean?"

"Nah, I'm not hungry," Dean said offhandedly. "I'll eat later."

Sam frowned. "You weren't hungry last night either. Are you sick?"

Dean smiled reassuringly at the worried little face. "I'm fine, Sammy. Go ahead and eat your breakfast."

Sam stuck out his lower lip. "If you're not gonna eat, I'm not either."

"You gotta eat, Sam," Dean protested. "If you don't, it'll get mushy and you know you don't like it mushy."

Sam scowled and folded his arms together and stared at Dean mutinously.

"Sam –" Dean said helplessly. "There's no more cereal. That's all there is."

Sam stared at him for a long moment. Then he picked up his bowl and poured half of it into Dean's bowl, milk spattering the table. He waited.

Recognizing from the stubborn glint in his little brother's eyes that it would be useless to protest, Dean sighed. "Thanks, Sammy." As he picked up his spoon and started to eat, an enthusiastic growl erupted from his stomach, prompting a giggle from Sam, who started again on his cereal.

The two boys finished their breakfast quickly. After they washed the dishes, Sam looked at Dean. "Can we go to the park now?"

"A little later, Sammy," Dean answered gently. "Why don't you go watch cartoons for a little while, okay?"

"Okay!" Sam ran toward the T.V., then made an abrupt U-turn and ran back to his brother, grabbing him around the waist in a ferocious hug. "Don't worry, Dean. It'll be okay." He grinned confidently up at Dean and then ran back to the T.V. Soon he was shrieking with laughter at the antics of Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd.

Dean watched him for a while, chewing his lip nervously, trying to gather his nerve what for he knew had to be done. At last, reluctantly, he dug his address book out of his duffel bag and picked up the telephone.

OOOOOOOOOO


	2. Chapter 2

OOOOOOOOOO

Bobby Singer spent most of the drive from his home in South Dakota to the boys in Averyville, Colorado cursing John Winchester's name.

He'd told John when he'd first met him that he was a fool to keep his kids with him when he hunted. They needed more than a life spent on the road. Deserved more than being stuck alone in some rundown motel room, at the mercy of the cops, or CPS, or whatever damned psycho might happen upon them.

"There's an unlimited supply of monsters out there, John, and every damned one of 'em is gonna try and take your head!" Bobby had said. "What happens to your boys then?"

Winchester had cursed him roundly and left, taking his sons with him and Bobby hadn't heard from him for months. If the stubborn fool hadn't needed information that only the older hunter could give him, Bobby might never have heard from him again.

Bobby'd been careful since then not to criticize John's child-rearing methods. He didn't want to risk John cutting him off for good, because the odds were against the man staying alive until his boys were grown, and able to take care of themselves. Bobby wanted to be there for them.

Bobby sighed. He didn't have any kids of his own. He and his late wife Karen hadn't been blessed in that way. But if he had had children, he'd have wanted them to be just like Dean and Sam - smart, brave, loyal and loving.

He tried to ignore the niggling little voice in the back of his head that said maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if John never came back. That the boys would be better off without him.

Better off or not, the man was their father. Bobby wouldn't wish that grief on them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

What should have been a five hour drive ended up taking just three and a half. Bobby kept pushing the truck way past what was safe, thinking about what would happen if the cops, and the CPS, got to the boys before he could reach them.

When he finally hit Averyville, he took a few precious minutes to go through a McDonald's drive-thru. He bought several bacon cheeseburgers, remembering Dean's fondness for them, along with lots of fries and a couple of chocolate shakes. He didn't know what the boys had been eating, but from the little Dean had said – and from what he hadn't said - it probably hadn't been much.

Mid-afternoon, he parked his truck in front of the boys' motel room. As he went to the door, he saw a woman come out of the manager's office and stand watching him. He nodded to her. Expressionless, she nodded back and continued to stare as he knocked on the door.

A very small voice came from inside. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Dean. Uncle Bobby."

He heard Sam's excited voice and Dean hushing him. After a few seconds, the door opened and Dean looked up at him, trying to smile. "Hey."

Bobby smiled back, trying to hide the fresh wave of anger he felt at the sight of the boy's too-thin face. "Hey, kid. Can I come in?"

Dean nodded wearily and stepped back from the door.

As he came in, Bobby handed Dean the McDonald's bags. "Thought you boys might be hungry."

Nose twitching at the heavenly smells, Dean managed a smile. "Thanks. We could eat."

Bobby looked around the room. "Where's Sam?"

A giggle came from the direction of the bed. Dean's smile got a little more real. "Okay, Sammy. You can come out now."

Sammy peeked out from behind the bed, dark hair falling into his eyes and Bobby grinned, holding out his arms. Sam jumped up and ran to him, taking a flying leap into his arms.

"Uncle Bobby!" He hugged Bobby hard, then, sniffing hungrily, gasped, "What's that smell?" He wriggled down to the floor and followed his nose to the bag in Dean's arms. "McDonald's? Wow!"

"You don't like fries, do you, kid?" Bobby asked teasingly.

"Fries?" Sam's eyes were huge.

Bobby nodded, rubbing an affectionate hand over the little boy's head.

"Do you want to set the table for us, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice carefully light.

"Sure!" The boy ran to the kitchen and set out three plates. Dean set the bags on the table and he and Bobby watched as Sam started laying the food out.

"Did you tell him?" Bobby asked in a low voice.

Dean shook his head, green eyes unhappy. "I don't want him to know. Not until –" he stopped, swallowing hard. "There's no point in worrying him. Dad's okay. He's just late."

Bobby patted Dean's arm supportively. "When you talked to John last, how did he sound?"

"Like he always does," Dean said miserably. "He asked how we were, said he'd be a couple more days. He said he'd be coming to pick us up by the weekend."

"That was last week?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded. "Thursday."

"You know what he was hunting? Where he was going?"

Dean shook his head. "He doesn't talk about that."

"It's ready, guys!" Sam sang out. "Come on, Dean! Uncle Bobby, you sit next to me!"

As they sat down at the table, Sam dove right into the french fries, stuffing a handful into his mouth with glee. Not wanting his little brother to pick up on the fact that something was wrong, Dean picked up one of the cheeseburgers and tried to eat, but, as hungry as he'd been, he was having a hard time forcing the food past the lump in his throat.

In between mouthfuls, and sometimes in the middle of one, Sam was talking excitedly to Bobby - about their dad being away, about the park he'd been to three times over the last week, about the fight the neighbors had gotten into last night.

Bobby listened carefully, asked the right questions and expressed just the right amount of awe regarding the language the lady next door had used.

When Sam's voracious appetite had slowed a bit and he was busy slurping down his shake, Bobby asked casually, "Would you two like to come to my place and visit for a few days? My dog Sadie's just about due to have pups. Sure could use some help with 'em."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Puppies?" Incredulous joy lit his face for a moment, then he faltered and looked at Dean. "What about Daddy?"

Dean tried to smile. "We'll leave a message on his voicemail. He'll know where to come get us."

Sam knew his brother very well and could see that something was wrong. "Dean?" His voice was uncertain.

Dropping his eyes, Dean pushed away from the table. "I'll be back in a minute," he mumbled hoarsely. Grabbing his jacket, he hurriedly left the room.

Sam stared after his brother with wide, frightened eyes. Mouth starting to tremble, he looked at Bobby.

Caught in those merciless headlights, Bobby's mouth went dry.

"Uh – did I mention puppies?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean slumped in the chair outside their room, fighting to hold back his tears.

Dad!

Everything in him said not to leave Averyville, to wait for their father's return, no matter how long it took. Leaving meant his father wasn't coming back. Leaving meant they were giving up on him.

Leaving meant Dad was dead.

A sob broke through and Dean forced it back. No. No tears. Dad was coming back. He was. Going to Bobby's was just a way to keep Sammy safe, and fed. A way to make sure they stayed together.

Dad would be back. He'd show up at Bobby's in a day or two, pissed as hell they hadn't stayed put and waited for him to come home, but once he got over it, he'd understand that Dean hadn't had a choice.

A stray tear escaped and Dean wiped it away angrily. He'd take any dressing down Dad wanted to give him, endure anything, just so long as his father came back.

Thinking of that helped when he went back into the motel room to face his brother. When he stepped inside the room, Sam was still sitting at the table with Bobby, but he'd stopped eating and was fixedly watching the door.

When he saw Dean, Sam ran to him and buried his face against him. "You scared me," he said in a tremulous voice. "Where did you go?"

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean said. "I just needed to go outside for a minute. I'm back now, okay?"

Sam nodded, still a little shaky.

Exchanging a glance with Bobby, Dean said reassuringly, "Listen, Sammy, how about you help me pack so we can get to Bobby's house and check out those puppies?"

Eyes fixed on his brother's face, Sam smiled.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	3. Chapter 3

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

OOOOOOOOOO

Bobby raised a hand in greeting to the driver of the big yellow school bus.

As the bus plunged to a halt in front of him, its door flew open with a resounding crash and little Sam Winchester plunged down the steps with a glad cry. "Bobby!"

Bobby smiled and hugged the boy. "Hey, kid. How was your day?"

"Great! I helped the teacher pass out papers and she said I can help her again tomorrow if I want to," Sam said. He leaned down to stroke Bitty, his Rottweiler puppy, who'd accompanied Bobby to the bus stop to fetch her boy. "Hey, Bitty! Oh, and we got a new girl today so I'm not the new kid anymore. Her name's Abbie and she's got red hair. And guess what? Mrs. Stebbins said Abbie should sit next to me so I can help her during class!"

Bobby ruffled the boy's dark shaggy hair affectionately. "That's great, kid."

Dean stepped off the bus, both his and Sam's book bags slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Dean," Bobby smiled. "How's it going?"

Dean shrugged.

Bobby waved a good-bye to the bus driver as the vehicle pulled away, and the four of them started back up the access road toward the house. Sam chattered happily all the way. Dean was silent for the most part.

At the house, Bobby fixed them all a snack. After they'd eaten, Sam and Bitty ran into the living room to watch cartoons. Dean started to follow, but Bobby stopped him.

"Dean, can you give me a hand outside? I'm putting in a new fan belt; could use an extra pair of hands.

With a glance toward the living room where he could already hear the blare of the television, Dean nodded and followed him outside.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Bobby stuck out his hand. "Hand me that wrench, will ya?"

Dean dug around in the toolbox, handing the wrench to Bobby who took it and dove back under the hood. "So, how you doing?"

Dean shrugged. "All right, I guess."

"Huh."

Not wanting to be drawn out, Dean stared at the engine.

"I got a call from your teacher yesterday," Bobby said conversationally.

Dean stiffened.

"She says you're not doing your classwork. Or your homework." He looked up at Dean. "Hand me that belt, would you?"

Still stubbornly silent, Dean handed it over, watching as the man bent over the engine again.

Bobby said nothing, letting Dean come to it in his own time.

"School's not going to help me find out what happened to Dad," Dean said finally.

"Well, I can see how you might think that," Bobby said, slipping on the new belt and tightening the bolts. "I guess you probably think hunting is all about chasing and shooting and burning bones." He glanced at Dean, smiling. "And a lot of the time that is what it's about."

"But hunting is research, too. Trying to find out what creature you're after and what'll kill it. Working a spell to banish a demon." He pulled a rag out of his back pocket and wiped his hands. "Truth is, in this line of work, the smarter you are, the longer you're likely to stay alive."

As Dean considered Bobby's words, Sam's treble rang across the yard. "Uncle Bobby! Telephone!"

"Tell 'em I'll call back later!" Bobby called back.

"Okay!" Sam shut the door and Bobby looked back at Dean.

"I'll tell you what. You do your best in school, learn all you can, and I'll teach you everything you need to know about hunting. That way you can stay alive long enough to find out what happened to your dad." He held out a hand. "Deal?"

Dean looked at him for a long moment, then took Bobby's hand. "Deal."

The front door opened again. "Uncle Bobby, it's the police!" Sam's voice was shrill with excitement. "He says it's 'portant!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam was waiting eagerly near the phone.

When Bobby and Dean came into the house, he ran to Dean. "Maybe it's about Daddy! Maybe they found Daddy!"

Dean, heart in his throat, didn't answer. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and watched as Bobby picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Robert Singer?"

"Yes."

"I'm Police Chief Aaron Creedy, Overlook Colorado Police Department. We found an abandoned car up here and when we ran the plates, we came up with a missing persons report for a John Winchester. It lists you as the contact person?"

"Yeah." Bobby's throat felt tight. "You found the Impala?"

"Yes, sir. It was abandoned on a piece of property outside of town. Owner of the property lives out of state. He found it in an old shed when he came in to get the place ready to sell."

"Was there any . . ." Feeling the weight of the boys' eyes on him, Bobby trailed off.

"No, sir, I'm sorry." The officer's voice held impersonal regret. "There was no sign of your brother-in-law. Looks like he just parked the car and walked away."

"Bobby?" Dean touched his sleeve tentatively. "Did they find Dad?"

At his brother's words, Sammy drew in a sharp little breath. Dean reached down and the brothers clasped hands. When Bobby shook his head, Dean sighed and the boys waited silently while Bobby talked with the officer for a few more minutes, making arrangements to go to Colorado and pick up the car.

Bobby hung up and looked at the two young Winchesters. Sam was wide-eyed and frightened; Dean pale and tight-lipped. "I'm gonna ask Caleb to drive down with me," he said, not knowing what to say to them at this point about their father. "If the Impala's driveable . . . "

"You're not leaving us here." Dean interrupted challengingly.

"No," Bobby agreed. "I'm not leaving you here."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

TWO DAYS LATER

OVERLOOK, COLORADO

POLICE DEPARTMENT IMPOUND LOT

"Like I said, no sign of your brother-in-law, Mr. Singer," Chief Creedy said affably. "I checked around town. No one remembers seeing the car before. Course, if he's been missing eight months, why would they? Eight months is a long time." He looked down at Dean and Sam, who were peering into the interior of the car, and lowered his voice.

"We got no unclaimed bodies, no unidentified hospital admissions. No strangers in town. If he's still around here . . ."

He didn't need to finish his sentence. If John was still here, he was dead and buried. They'd probably never find him.

Sam opened the rear passenger door and opened it. He clambered inside, looking around. Most of the boys' belongings had been with them in the motel room in Averyville. A couple of his toys were on the floor in the back seat, though, along with an old shirt of John's. Sam picked it up and buried his nose in it. Even after eight months, the shirt still smelled like his dad. His lower lip started to tremble.

Promising to let them know if anything came to light about John, the Chief left them. Once he was gone, Caleb popped open the trunk of the Impala and lifted the false bottom, exposing John's arsenal. The three of them looked at it, but it revealed nothing of John's fate at first glance.

Then, with a sudden movement, Dean reached in and pulled out a worn brown book. His father's journal. He held it gently, almost reverently, a slight sheen of tears in his green eyes.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean looked at Caleb.

"How about you and me take a look through that later on, see what we can find?" Caleb asked.

Dean nodded, chin wobbling. He saw Sam looking at him from inside the Impala, tears trickling down his cheeks. Still clutching the journal, Dean climbed in the back seat with him and the two boys huddled together, drowning in the knowledge that they would never see their father again.


	4. Chapter 4

Approximately five years later. Dean is 15. Sam is 11.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean raised his gun and fired quickly.

Five shots.

Five bottles shattered.

"Damn, boy!" Caleb whistled. "Good job!"

Dean grinned cockily. "Thanks, Caleb."

From his position behind them, jiggling impatiently from foot to foot, Sam asked eagerly, "Can I set up some more bottles, Dean?"

Nodding, Dean gave him the go-ahead and Sam, all long coltish legs and dark, shaggy hair, dashed over to the target line, picking bottles out of the waiting pile and setting them up on the scattered stumps. Then, eyes sparkling with excitement, he ran back and took up his position again.

Dean was readying himself to shoot when Caleb put a staying hand on his arm. "Listen, Ace, you've got this down. There's no more challenge at this distance. What say we take it back a little, maybe forty yards. That's the farthest you can be accurate with most handguns anyway. We'll see how you do."

Dean nodded and they paced off the additional yardage.

Sam was skeptical, looking at the now distant bottles. "That's too far."

Caleb shrugged. "It's pretty far, but that piece can handle the distance. Let's see what you've got, Dean," he said challengingly.

Grinning, Dean flipped his friend off, then faced the waiting bottles.

When he lined up to take the shots, Dean's grin dropped away. His green eyes narrowed and focused. This time, when he fired, he was a little slower, taking a little more time with each shot.

Five shots.

Again, five bottles shattered.

Sam let out a whoop and started to run to the bottles.

"Sam, stop!" Caleb barked.

Sam skidded to a halt. "I'm sorry, Caleb. I forgot," he said guiltily.

Caleb looked at him sternly. "I don't want you getting shot because you forgot to wait for the all-clear, Sam. You hear me?"

Shame-faced, Sam nodded. "Can I set up, Dean?"

Dean nodded. "Sure, Sam. Go ahead."

The two watched as the boy trotted over to the target line and started setting more bottles up.

"Did you talk to Bobby?" Dean asked, reloading his gun adroitly.

"Yeah, I did," Caleb answered. "He wasn't too happy about it."

Dean started to bristle.

"Calm down," Caleb went on imperturbably. "He wasn't happy about it, but he said yes. So long as we're back by the time school starts back up."

Dean relaxed. "Good."

"He says you have to tell Sam, though," Caleb added.

Dean's face fell. "Crap."

"Tell me what?" Sam stood just a few feet away, looking at them with a questioning smile.

Dean and Caleb looked at each other silently. Sam's smile faltered. "I said I was sorry, Caleb! I won't forget again, I promise!"

"That's okay, kid. No sweat," Caleb said reassuringly. "Listen, you guys, I'm gonna go get a sandwich. You two want anything?"

"No, thanks," Dean answered.

Sam, inner alarm screaming, simply shook his head, gaze fastened on his brother.

Exchanging a quick glance with Caleb before the older man walked away, Dean took a deep breath, hesitated, then plunged. "I'm going hunting tomorrow with Caleb."

Sam's eyes widened in dismay. "Dean!"

"It's not a big deal," Dean hastily reassured him. "Just a little haunting over in Reno. Some guy who jumped off the roof of one of the casinos. It'll be a quick trip. Get in, burn the bones and get out."

"Dean, no."

Dean said pleadingly. "It'll just be a few days. I'll be back."

"That's what Dad said!" Sam cast about frantically for something to stop this imminent catastrophe. "Bobby! You're too young! Bobby won't let you go!"

"He already said yes." Dean sighed. "Sammy, please understand. I have to do this. It's what Dad would have wanted. And it's what I want. I have to find out what happened to him. Hunting is the only way I can do that."

Sam didn't answer. He could barely breathe. All he could do to stand there and try to take the news that Dean had just thrown at him. If he tried to speak again, all that would come out would be a croak, followed closely by tears and a plea for his brother not to leave him.

When Sam still didn't answer, simply stared at his brother with huge, terrified eyes, Dean said awkwardly, "I'm sorry, Sam. I know you don't want me to go, but I have to. I have to."

"No!" Sam turned away, not toward the house, and Bobby, but further into the junkyard. He had to get away.

Within ten feet, he was running.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After dinner that night, Dean started packing his gear for the road. His shotgun (a present from Bobby on his twelfth birthday), holy water, two silver blades, kerosene, extra clothes and a shitload of rock salt. And, of course, Dad's journal.

He hadn't been able to eat much at dinner, what with being nervous about the hunt and worrying about Sam. His brother had come in late to dinner, looking white, strained and very young. He hadn't eaten any more than Dean and hadn't spoken at all. He just sat at the table, pushing the food on his plate around with a fork, listening as the others talked about the upcoming hunt.

Dean hated to see his little brother hurting like this. He wanted to sit Sam down, make him understand why he had to do this, but there was nothing he could say that hadn't been said a dozen times already. They'd all known for years that this day would come. Sam would just have to make his peace with it.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up, a relieved smile coming onto his face. "Hey, Sammy."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam muttered, looking shame-faced.

Dean shook his head. "No need. I understand."

Sam came into the room a little hesitantly. "You almost ready?"

"Just finishing up." Dean zipped up his duffel bag, then saw that Sam was holding something in his hand. "What's that?"

"I was going to give this to you on your birthday," Sam said shyly. "But I think I should give it to you now." He held out his hand and Dean saw a pendant resting on a chain. The pendant was the face of a man, somewhat elongated, with prominent ears and horn-like protuberances rising from the head.

"Where'd you get it?" Dean said, examining it curiously.

"In San Diego, last year. When you were visiting Pastor Jim, Bobby and me went to see a friend of his. He gave it to me."

"Why?"

Sam shrugged, a little uncomfortable. "I don't know. He said when he met me that he knew I should have it."

Dean looked at him skeptically. "What was he, some kind of psychic?"

"I liked him," Sam said defensively. "And Bobby said he was okay." He watched as Dean put the necklace on. "He said the amulet has protective properties."

Dean frowned. "It's not some witchcraft thing, is it?"

"I don't think so."

"Sam – " Dean was already starting to like the freaky little thing but - "The guy said you should have it."

"I want you to have it," Sam said, looking at the floor. "You need protection more than I do.

Dean gave him an affectionate hug. "Thanks, Sammy." He looked at his watch. "We should get to bed now. Gotta be up early tomorrow."

Sam's eyes darkened with pain but he nodded and started changing for bed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean tossed his duffel into the back of Caleb's truck. "Gimme a minute, okay?"

"Sure, man." Caleb looked over at Sam, who was standing quietly next to Bobby, Bitty laying at their feet. "Take your time."

Dean walked over to his watching family and held a hand out to Bobby.

Bobby snorted and pulled Dean into a hard hug. "Time to put what you've learned into practice, son. Watch your ass. And do what Caleb tells you."

"I will, Bobby," Dean promised. He looked down at Sam, unhappily noting his pale face and dark, circled eyes. "You be good, Sammy," he tried to joke. "Don't give Bobby any trouble."

Sam made himself smile. He didn't say anything; didn't think he could get anything past the lump in his throat. But he didn't cry. He'd promised himself as he lay awake last night – all last night – that he wouldn't cry.

Dean hugged him. "I'll call, okay?" he said in a muffled voice. Turning away quickly, he ran to the truck. He and Caleb climbed in and within seconds the truck was roaring out of sight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Bobby put an arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'm proud of you, Sam. You okay?"

"My head kinda hurts," Sam said in a small voice. "I think I'm gonna go lay down."

Bobby frowned and laid a hand on the boy's forehead. "You're a little warm. How's your stomach?"

"Fine. It's just my head."

"Okay, then. You head upstairs, get into bed. I'll be up to check on you in a bit."

Trudging up the stairs, Bitty at his heels, the pain in Sam's head seemed to intensify with every step. Once he got to his bedroom, he managed to close the shades and then staggered over to the bed, blocking Bitty from following him up. She lay on the floor next to the bed, staring up at him with anxious eyes.

Tears finally beginning, Sam lay down, huddling onto his side and pressing his face into the pillow.

Dad never came back. Dad never came back!

A little later, Bobby came in and sat down next to him on the bed, rubbing small comforting circles onto his back. The older man said nothing. There was nothing to say. Sam was without his brother for the first time in his life. And it was no good telling him not to worry. Unlike most kids, Sam knew what waited in the darkness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	5. Chapter 5

Dean is 18. Sam is 14.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sam had put on a good show. He'd eaten a big dinner, made a huge fuss over the birthday cake, and gone nearly ballistic over his new laptop, but he hadn't fooled Bobby. None of it meant anything to Sam without his brother there.

They were watching Ghostbusters now, Sam's favorite and a birthday tradition, but Bobby had seen how often the boy's eyes turned to the telephone, how he tensed at the slightest imagined noise from outside.

When the phone rang just after 9 o'clock, Sam jumped up eagerly to answer it. "Dean?"

"Happy birthday, Sam!"

"Pastor Jim!" Sam's smile dimmed a little, but he tried to rally. "I was going to call you tomorrow! Thanks for the book!"

"Oh, good, you got it then."

"Yeah, today. The Three Musketeers is one of my favorite books! You must have been talking to Bobby!" Sam looked at Bobby, who gazed back at him in wide-eyed innocence. Who, me?

"Well, he did give me a few ideas." Jim's voice smiled. "But I know I can never go wrong with you and books. And Dumas has always been one of my favorite writers."

"Me, too," Sam agreed. "Pastor, are you still coming in June?"

"Of course! Would I miss a chance to beat Bobby's butt at poker?"

Sam snickered. Jim's lack of poker skills was legendary. Even he could beat the older man.

"In fact, Sam, Bobby and I were talking a few weeks ago. When I come out, we're going to do some camping."

"At Paha Sapa?" Sam asked eagerly.

"Sounds good." Jim answered. "Who knows, maybe we can get Caleb and your brother to take a few days off and come with us."

Sam's smile faltered. "Yeah, maybe."

"So I gather you haven't heard from your brother today?"

"No." Something about Jim's tone raised Sam's suspicions. "Have you?"

"No, but I did speak with Caleb last night. He and Dean were on their way to Gainesville to sort out a rugaru."

"Oh."

"I'm sure he just got caught up in the hunt, Sam," Jim said reassuringly. "He'll probably be calling you any minute now."

"Yeah." Sam's voice held the weight of resigned disappointment. "Well, thanks again, Jim. Talk to you later."

After Jim said a slightly startled good-bye, Sam put the phone down onto the cradle and stood staring down at it.

"What is it?" Bobby asked, a little worried. "Sam?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing." Sam flashed a quick grin at Bobby which didn't reach his eyes and threw himself back down on the couch. He started the movie again but it was obvious that it wasn't keeping his attention. He was restless, changing his position every couple of minutes and drumming his fingers nervously on the couch.

Bobby finally grabbed the remote and turned off the television. "Enough. What's going on?"

"Huh?" Sam blinked at him in surprise. "Nothing. Why?"

Bobby went straight at it. "Bull. What did Jim say about Dean?"

"He got a call from Caleb this morning," Sam said reluctantly, eyes unhappy. "Him and Dean are on their way to Florida to take care of a rugaru."

Which means he won't be here for your birthday. And odds are he won't be calling either. "Sorry, kid."

"That's okay," Sam said unconvincingly. "It's just a birthday." He tried to shrug it off. "No big deal." Giving Bobby a nervous smile, he said, "I'm gonna have another piece of cake. You want some?"

Bobby shook his head and watched sadly as Sam bolted out of the room. Damn it, Dean.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

One week later . . .

"Sam," Bobby said softly. "Sam, wake up."

"Huh?" Yawning sleepily, Sam propped himself up on his elbows. "What is it?"

"Dean and Caleb came in last night."

"Dean?" Instantly wide awake, Sam grinned and sat up. "Great!" Then he took another look at the sober expression on his foster father's face and stilled. "What's wrong?"

"Take it easy, son," Bobby answered quietly. "They had a little trouble, but Dean'll be okay."

Which translated to, Dean wasn't okay now.

"Is he in his room?"

At Bobby's nod, Sam ran quickly to Dean's room, feet thudding on the chilly floor. Dean was asleep on one of the twin beds, covered to the waist with a blanket. His arms and upper torso were bandaged, his face pale and his eyes deeply shadowed. A light beard shadowed his jaw.

When Caleb, slumped in a chair next to Dean's bed, saw Sam at the door, he got up and came out into the hall. "He's okay, Sam. He's got some burns on his arms and chest, but he's going to be fine."

"Burns?"

At Sam's horrified expression, Caleb repeated, "He's fine, Sam. It hurts some, yeah, but he's healing."

Looking past Caleb to his brother's quiet face, Sam fought to stay calm. "What happened?"

"Rugaru. Things got a little hairy." Caleb yawned. "Listen, Sam, I'm going to get some coffee. You'll stay with him?"

Sam nodded distractedly and moved quietly into the room. Not daring to touch his injured brother for fear of waking him, he sat down in Caleb's deserted chair and watched Dean sleep.

After a very few minutes, Dean stirred and gave a slight groan.

Sam leapt up and leaned anxiously over the bed. "Dean?"

Dean's green eyes fluttered open and he peered woozily up at Sam. "Sammy," he croaked. "Hey." He ran his tongue over his dry lips.

There was a glass of water on the bedside table. Sam gently lifted Dean's head and held the glass to his lips. Dean took a couple of sips and then sank back, closing his eyes.

Sam sat down on the bed next to him, gaze fixed on his brother's face. Without opening his eyes, Dean said irritably, "I'm okay, Sam. Don't hover." He shifted restlessly. "Where's Caleb?"

Sam was silent for a moment. "I'll go get him."

He found Caleb at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. Bobby, mixing up a batch of pancake batter, looked up in surprise. "Dean up already? You didn't wake him, did you?"

"No!" Sam said defensively. "He woke up by himself. He's asking for Caleb," he added, trying to hide his resentment.

"I was hoping he'd sleep a few more hours." Caleb sighed. "Well, if he's conscious, he'll want coffee."

"Go on up," Bobby said, dragging out his cast iron skillet. "I'll bring a couple of plates up when it's ready."

"Thanks, Bobby." With a nod to Sam, Caleb poured a cup of coffee for Dean and went back upstairs.

Sam stared after him, hands clenched at his sides. Okay. Okay. No reason to be mad. Caleb was Dean's partner. They watched each other's backs, kept each other alive. It was normal, right, for them to be close. Being jealous of Caleb, was selfish and stupid.

"Sam?" Bobby pulled a package of bacon out of the fridge. "Something wrong?"

Sam flushed. No way was he complaining to Bobby. "No."

Bobby smiled, happy to have both his boys at home. "You ready for breakfast?"

Sam looked at the pancake batter waiting on the counter and the bacon waiting to be laid in the pan. His stomach gave a little nervous roll. "No. I'm gonna get ready for school."

"You can stay home if you want," Bobby offered, knowing how Sam had been longing for his brother's visit.

Sam glanced toward the stairs and shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Surprised, Bobby said, "You sure? Dean's gonna want to spend some time with you, once he wakes up some."

Will he?

(Where's Caleb?)

Sam felt a wave of heat sweep over him and tears were abruptly, humiliatingly, very close to the surface. Don't you freaking cry!

"No, he'll probably sleep most of the day. I can see him later." Seeing the surprise in Bobby's eyes, Sam shifted restlessly. "I gotta go. Don't want to miss the bus."

Bobby glanced at his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Sam, your bus doesn't come for an hour. You've got time to eat. Go get dressed. We can take our plates upstairs, eat with Dean and Caleb."

Muttering something under his breath that might be taken for assent, Sam headed upstairs, where he quickly washed up and got dressed. Once he was ready, he grabbed his schoolbag and started back downstairs.

He tried to slip past Dean's room unseen, but his brother caught a glimpse of him through the open door.

"Sam?"

Sam hesitated, then answered in a determinedly cheerful voice, "Gotta get going! I'll see you guys after school!" He ran down the stairs and shouted a hasty good-bye toward the kitchen.

Bobby stuck his head out of the kitchen door. "Sam, what -"

"Bye, Bobby!" Sam flung open the front door and shot out into the morning.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with that kid," Dean said discontentedly, listening as his brother ran downstairs and out of the house.

At the window, Caleb watched as Sam ran down the drive to the road. "What do you mean?"

"Every time I talk to him, all he wants to talk about is school," Dean groused. "He's not training, not enough."

"Bobby's working him," Caleb protested. "You couldn't ask for a better teacher."

Dean shook his head stubbornly. "I pushed Bobby. I took all he could give me and asked for more. Sam's not doing that." He scowled. "It's like –"

When his partner didn't continue, Caleb prodded. "What?"

Dean scowled.

Caleb shrugged. "You don't want to say it, I will. Sam doesn't want to hunt."

"He'll hunt." Dean's jaw was set, eyes hard.

"Come on, Dean. Not everyone was made for this life."

"That thing killed our mother," Dean said flatly. "And maybe Dad. We don't stop until it's dead. We. That includes Sam. He needs to get off his ass and start training like he means it."

"He's a kid," protested Caleb, a little startled at Dean's vehemence. "He's your brother."

"Yeah, that's my goddamn point." Setting his coffee cup down on the bedside table with a bang, Dean lay back against his pillows, wincing as the movement sent a tight pain across the burns on his torso. Freaking monsters. "It's time Sam started acting like a Winchester."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Wild with excitement, Sam jumped off the bus and ran eagerly up the road to the house. Slamming in through the front door, he called out eagerly, "Bobby?"

No answer. Dropping his book bag on the floor, he ran upstairs and peeked inside his brother's room cautiously.

Dean looked back at him with tired eyes. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hey." Sam hesitated at the door, that morning's rejection suddenly very fresh in his mind. "You okay?"

"Not too bad."

"That's good." Sam shifted his feet uneasily. "Um, where's Bobby?"

"Out in the yard with Caleb. They'll be back in a few minutes."

"Okay. Thanks." Sam started to back out and Dean said quickly, "Come on in. Been wanting to talk to you." When Sam hesitated, Dean patted the bed next to him. "Come on, I won't bite."

A little shyly, Sam came in and sat down beside him.

"You left pretty quick this morning," Dean said, an inquiring lift to his voice.

Sam flushed. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"You don't have to apologize, Sammy. I just wish you'd stayed home so we could talk. It's been a while since I've been home."

"Eight months." Sam saw his brother's frown and said quickly, "It's okay, Dean. What you and Caleb do is important. I just - we miss you."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, me too. Hey, I haven't seen Bitty today. She around?"

Sam's face fell. "She died a few weeks ago."

Dean frowned. "Damn, that's too bad. She was a good dog. What happened?"

"Cancer." Sam looked down. "They couldn't fix her."

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said sympathetically. He cast around for a change of subject. "You looked pretty happy when you came in. Something happen?"

Sam smiled. He'd wanted to wait until Bobby came back and tell them both at the same time, but his news was so big, so amazing - "You remember when I started high school, they let me skip ninth grade?"

School again. "Yeah, I guess so."

Trying to ignore Dean's lackluster response, Sam went on, "Well, they let me take the SATs with the other sophomores a few weeks ago and today the school's guidance counselor said I had the highest score of any SAT ever taken at our school!"

Dean was starting to get a very bad feeling about where this conversation was heading. A little warily, he said, "No kidding. Good job, Sammy."

Sam grinned happily. "Thanks! Miss Prince said I should think about college! She's going to talk to Bobby about starting me in special classes!"

"What?"

Sam glowed with pride. "She said I can get a scholarship to any college I want when I finish high school! College, Dean!"

Baffled, Dean stared at his brother for a long minute. Then an ugly scowl formed. "Why the hell would you want to go to college?"

The smile froze on Sam's face. "Dean – I thought - "

"What? You thought you'd go to college and leave me to hunt for the demon on my own?" Dean pushed himself up off of the pillows, ignoring the pull of torn muscles, the screech of scorched flesh.

"Caleb – " Sam stammered.

"You're my brother, Sam!" Dean snapped. "Don't you care about what happened to Mom? To Dad?"

Sam blanched. He got up off the bed and started to back toward the door. "I didn't mean – "

Face red with rage, Dean spat, "You're a selfish fucking brat, Sam! You're just going to leave Bobby, leave me?"

Sam's eyes were saucer-wide. "Dean, It wouldn't be forever, it's just college -"

"Screw that! Sam, if you leave - don't you ever fucking come back!"

"Dean! What the hell!" Caleb stood in the doorway, Bobby just behind him, aghast.

One broken sob escaping him, Sam turned and shoved past them.

Dean tried to get out of bed. "Sam, get your ass back here!"

"Damn it, Dean, stay down, you're in no condi –" Caleb bit off a curse when Dean fell back across the bed with a groan. "Hell!"

Leaving Caleb to deal with Dean, Bobby ran after Sam. "Sam! Hold up!"

Throwing a desperate look over his shoulder, Sam missed a step and fell, rolling to the bottom of the stairs. He lay still for a second, stunned, then scrambled to his feet and ran out the front door.

When Bobby got outside, Sam was nowhere in sight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	6. Chapter 6

OOOOOOOOOO

 

Sam was nowhere to be found.

When Bobby got back upstairs, Dean was propped back up in bed, scowling angrily. The older man could see the shadow of uncertainty and guilt underneath the anger, but right now he didn't give a damn.

Caleb, sitting next to the window, flicked a cautious glance at Bobby but said nothing.

"Caleb," Bobby said stiffly, "Can you give us a minute?"

Caleb nodded and left the room, happy his head wasn't on Bobby's chopping block.

Bobby stared at Dean.

Dean, color high, stared back. "What!"

"You watch your tone with me, boy," Bobby growled. "Just because you're grown doesn't mean I can't kick your ass. What the hell was that bullshit with Sam!"

"He wants to go to college!" Dean huffed angrily.

Taken aback, Bobby blinked. "College?"

"College! He came home with some crap about his SAT scores being the highest they've ever had at his school. His teacher's talking about him getting some kind of damned scholarship."

"No kidding!" Bobby considered that for a minute, feeling a warm glow of pride, then said coldly to Dean, "And you have a problem with that."

"How does college get us any closer to the demon that killed our parents?" Dean said harshly. "How does Sam going to keggers and banging cheerleaders help anyone but Sam?"

Bobby stared at him in astonishment. "Are you kidding me?"

Dean scowled. "Nothing's more important than killing that son-of-a-bitch demon. Nothing."

Bobby took a deep breath. "You jackass." He shook his head in wonderment. "When the hell did you turn into your daddy?"

Dean sat up, ignoring the pain from his burns. "Don't you say anything against my father!" he warned.

"Oh," Bobby answered sarcastically. "So I shouldn't mention how he left two young children in a motel room, alone, so he could hunt monsters?"

Dean started to answer but Bobby rode over him. "I shouldn't criticize him for not caring whether or not his sons ended up in foster care or kidnapped or maybe dead, so long as he got to play hero?"

"My dad was a hero!" Dean said angrily.

"Yes, he was. But that doesn't excuse what he did to you and Sam."

Furious, Dean glared at him.

"I've never regretted taking you two boys in," Bobby went on. "But I've never forgiven John for leaving you two alone like he did. There's no excuse for that. And wherever he is now, I think he knows that. Family is everything. Revenge doesn't mean a goddamned thing if you forget that."

The two stared at each other for a minute, neither of them giving an inch.

Bobby said abruptly, "You remember that witch you and Caleb took out last August?"

"Yeah." Dean answered, confused by the change in subject.

"You two couldn't figure out who it was. Bastard killed eight people in that town. You two couldn't do jack shit about it until you called me and asked for help."

"We couldn't find him," Dean protested defensively. "He had himself shielded –"

"Be quiet. I want you to listen. The intel you got from me, the info that helped you stop a killer and save lives? That didn't come from me. That came from Sam."

"What?"

"I spent days researching that bastard and couldn't find a thing. Sam's the one who figured out what was going on. He's the one who worked out how to break the spell that was hiding the witch. Not me. Sam."

"At least half the information going out of this house to you and Caleb and every hunter that comes to me for help comes from your brother." Bobby smiled grimly at the surprise on Dean's face. "Do you think he's sitting on his ass while you're out risking your life? You think he's going to football games and kissing girls and leading the normal life I want him to?"

"Bobby –"

"Shut - up!" Bobby snapped. "That boy goes to school. He works his ass off. And when he's done with school, he comes home and works in the scrapyard and the house. He cooks. He studies. He researches."

"Bobby –"

"Sam's no kid, no matter what you think." Bobby's eyes darkened with pain. "No matter how much I want him to stay one. All he thinks about is learning everything he can to help find what killed your parents. All he cares about is keeping your dumb ass alive. In his own way, he's just as obsessed as you are. And you can't even bother to remember his fucking birthday!"

Seeing the stricken look on Dean's face, Bobby tried to calm down but all he could see was the gutted look on Sam's face when he'd fled the house.

"I've known you damn near your whole life, Dean Winchester. I love you like you're my own blood. But today, for the first time - I'm ashamed of you."

Bobby took out his wallet, pulled out a photograph and tossed it over to Dean.

"You'd better start remembering what's important, or you're gonna look up one day and it'll be gone." With that dire warning, Bobby wheeled around and left the room.

After a minute, Caleb came back into the room. He ambled over to the bed and looked assessingly down at Dean, who was holding the photograph and staring at it fixedly.

Dean looked up at him and flushed. "What?"

"Just wondering if he drew blood," Caleb answered with a shrug. He sauntered back to the door. "Once you pull Bobby's foot out of your ass, you might want to think about apologizing to your brother."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Furious with himself, Sam wiped away an angry tear.

He was an idiot. He should never have told Dean about college. His brother didn't want to hear about that kind of stuff. And come on, why would he? Dean was a hero. He saved lives. His life was as far away from Sam's stupid school stuff as you could get.

Instead of bragging about himself, he should've been telling Dean about the research he'd been doing on the demon. He hadn't come up with much so far, but it would have shown Dean that he cared about their parents. But no, he'd screwed up and now Dean thought he was just some stupid, selfish kid who only thought about himself.

Ignoring the soft rain misting down on him, Sam dug his fingers into the ground, sifting his fingers through the damp earth. A squirrel ran by, pausing to chatter at him violently and he looked at it with a faint smile. "You're lucky Bitty's not here. She'd have your butt for dinner."

The squirrel took issue with that remark, spat something nasty and ran on.

Sam sighed, shifting his position on the cold ground, and rubbed his forehead, which was aching ferociously.

When Bitty had died, he and Bobby had buried her near the pond at the back of their property. Now, sitting next to her grave, looking out at the pond's still waters, he could still see her chasing him into the water, hear her joyful bark. He could feel the familiar weight of her in his bed as she kept him warm through the bitter South Dakota winters.

Sam ran his fingers over the stone marker that he'd placed on top of her grave, picturing her soft brown eyes gazing up at him adoringly. His throat tightened. When Bitty had died, he'd locked away his pain and grief, and gotten through it by not thinking about her at all. Now that grief, leavened by guilt and shame, crashed down on him with its full weight.

Bitty had been his constant companion since the day of her birth. For nine years she'd loved him, protected him - looked always and only to him. When her death sentence had been pronounced, he'd held her and kissed her as the doctor injected the poison. She'd looked into his face with loving, trusting eyes, and died.

And how had he returned that love? That trust? He'd thrown her memory away as if she were no more than the bugs that spattered on the windshield of Bobby's truck.

Sam bit down hard on his lip. Bitty deserved better. Better than him. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe he was a selfish bastard.

A chill breeze blew through him and he looked up at the darkening sky. It was getting late. He should get back to the house. There was no point in worrying Bobby, not on top of all the rest of it.

He wouldn't have to see Dean. His brother was stuck in bed for a couple of days, while his wounds healed. Sam would just stay away from him until he left again. It wouldn't be long. Dean would be anxious to get back on the road.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, and his headache ratcheted up another notch. He started slowly back toward the house.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean, prone on the couch in Bobby's study, studied the photograph Bobby had given him. It had been taken about a year after they'd first come to live with Bobby, at the Great Plains Zoo in Sioux Falls.

It had been their first time at a zoo and he and Sam had been spellbound. Lions, tiger, elephants. Gorillas, snakes, crocodiles. There'd even been a small petting zoo. Dean smiled, remembering. It had been hard to pull Sammy away from the baby goats. Bobby had managed it, finally, by reminding him that Bitty was waiting for them at home.

This picture had been taken in front of the giraffe enclosure. Dean and Sam were standing in front of the fence - two of the exotic creatures visible in the background of the picture – both boys grinning madly at each other, ice cream smeared all over their faces.

The way Sammy was looking up at him in the picture, with his wide gap-toothed grin and shining eyes, gave Dean a twinge. All the love and trust in the world showed in that grin. He could remember what it felt like, being the focus of Sam's smile. It had made him feel like the center of the universe, like he could move mountains.

It had been a long time since Sam had looked at him like that.

In the silence of the house, he heard the front door open and close. After a moment, soft footsteps moved across the hall and into the kitchen.

Gritting his teeth against the pain of his burns, Dean heaved himself up.

At the kitchen sink, Sam raised the glass to his lips. His hands were trembling so badly that the glass rattled against his teeth, but he managed to get a little water down.

"Sam?"

Startled, Sam sat the glass down onto the counter with a bang. The noise sent another sharp pain through his head and he leaned against the sink, holding back a whimper.

"Sam, you okay?"

Sam managed an affirmative, then picked up the glass and placed it carefully in the sink.

"Can we talk?"

Sam didn't answer and Dean tried again. "Sam, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it."

Head pounding, so not ready for this conversation, Sam turned to face his brother. "Yeah, you did. You might be sorry you said it, but you meant it." A little shiver shook him.

Dean's eyes widened. "Jeez, dude, you're soaked." He noticed Sam's pale face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam lied. "Just tired."

Uneasy, not really believing him, but wanting, needing, to get this out, Dean said, "Listen, Sam, about earlier - I'm sorry, I was just mad."

"Oh." Sam blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision. "So it's okay if I go to college?"

Dean hesitated and Sam sighed. "Yeah, no college." A spurt of anger forced its way through his pain. "Fine! I won't even finish high school. Will that make you happy?"

"Damn it, Sam, I said I'm sorry," Dean said, exasperated. "Can't we even talk about this?"

"No! Just leave me alone!" He started to push past him but the sudden movement sent another flash of pain through his head and he moaned, falling heavily against Dean.

"Shit!" Dean gasped in pain but held onto his sagging brother. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Sam gathered his strength and pulled away. "Headache." Staying on his feet through sheer force of will, he launched himself out of the kitchen door, fixed his eyes on the stairs and somehow kept moving.

"Sam!" Dean followed as quickly as he could but his stiffened muscles wouldn't let him catch up. "Sam! Just fucking stop!"

Sam's legs failed him halfway up the stairs. Grasping weakly at the bannister, he collapsed and slid back down the stairs on his back, each jolt a galaxy of white stars exploding behind his eyes and searing through his brain.

"Sam!" Clutching an arm tightly round his middle to steady himself, Dean dropped to his knees beside his stricken brother. "Shit! Caleb!"

The shout piercing him, Sam whimpered and curled in on himself, clutching at his head, trying to hold back the fire.

Caleb appeared at the top of the stairs, sleep dishevelled, but alert. He took one look and ran quickly down the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Damned if I know." Dean pulled Sam's head and shoulders onto his lap, ignoring the wild clamor his own wounds sent up. "Go get Bobby, will you?"

Before Caleb could take so much as a step, the front door opened and Bobby appeared, carrying a box full of car parts. "What the hell's going on?" he said, dumping the box on the hall table and coming quickly to the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't know," Dean answered grimly, not taking his eyes from his brother's waxen face. "He collapsed."

Bobby crouched down next to Sam and touched his shoulder gently. "Son?"

Sam's eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the light. His hands dug fiercely into Dean's arms. "My head, Bobby, my head."

Bobby uttered a soft curse. "Lay still, Sam. I'll get your meds and be right back." He edged carefully around them and ran quickly upstairs.

"Meds?" Caleb asked Dean, curious.

Dean shook his head, eyes worried. "Don't know." But I fucking should.

Bobby came back with a medicine kit. After disinfecting a small area on Sam's arm, he pulled out a small, dark bottle and a hypodermic needle. With the ease of long practice, he inserted the needle into the bottle, expertly drew out the medicine and, speaking comfortingly to the stricken boy, injected it gently into Sam's arm.

"Bobby?"

Bobby shook his head at Dean. "Wait." He held two fingers against Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse, counting. He slid the boy's eyelid up. "He's out."

"Bobby, what the hell?" Dean said, voice charged with anxiety.

"Migraine. He'll sleep till morning, be mostly okay when he wakes up."

"Mostly?"

Bobby shrugged. "He'll have to stay home a couple of days. Headache plus the drug knocks him out."

"How long has this been going on?" Dean demanded.

"Three years."

'Three years!" Dean repeated. Then, "Since I started hunting," he said, stunned.

"Pretty much."

"Why didn't you tell me?

"He didn't want you to know," Bobby said brusquely.

"Why the hell not?"

"Maybe he figured you had enough on your plate."

"Damn it, Bobby, you should've told –"

"Sam's call, Dean," the older man interrupted. "I got no time for this right now. Caleb, gimme a hand, will you? Get Sam upstairs and into bed?"

Caleb nodded and, lifting the gangly boy up easily, carried him up thestairs.

Bobby looked at Dean's set face. "Be mad at me all you want. But the fact is, there was nothing you could do about it, so I didn't see any good reason to go against Sam's wishes and tell you."

"Damn it, Bobby, he's my brother." "

"Yeah, well, you ain't exactly been around, have you?" He sighed when Dean's face fell. "Let it go, Dean. We can fight about it later if you want. Right now, you need to get back upstairs and into bed. Fat lotta good you're gonna do Sam if you end up flat on your back again. Or in the hospital."

Dean nodded reluctantly, took hold of the bannister and started up. He shook his head when Bobby moved to help him.

"You falling down the stairs and breaking your neck ain't gonna make Sam feel better," Bobby said sardonically. "Stop beating yourself up."

Dean huffed out a harsh breath. "I should've known."

"Fine, you should've known," Bobby said. "Let's get your guilty ass up the stairs and back into bed. We can talk about it tomorrow, if we absolutely freaking have to."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean wouldn't go to his own room. He sat in a straight chair next to his brother's bed, clearly uncomfortable and in pain, but refusing to leave Sam's side.

After an hour or so, Caleb took pity on him and dragged a more comfortable armchair into the room. A few minutes after that, aided by a couple of pain pills forced down him by his partner, Dean fell asleep, an afghan thrown over him against the chill in the night air.

Sometime after midnight, Sam stirred with a querulous moan.

Dean woke instantly. Straightening up in his chair with a stifled groan, he met Sam's confused and groggy eyes. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dean?" Sam's bleary gaze tracked around his darkened bedroom, then back to his brother. "You okay?"

Dean hauled himself painfully out of the chair and sat down heavily on the bed next to Sam. "I'm fine, Sammy." He reached out and pushed a lock of damp hair away from his brother's face. "How's your head?"

"It's good," Sam answered drowsily. He yawned again. "You should be in bed."

"Sammy . . . Listen, I'm sorry I said that shit to you this afternoon. I was mad and hurting. I swear, I didn't mean a damned word of it. I'm proud of you and if you decide to go to college, I'm behind you, all the way." He saw the bewilderment in Sam's heavy-lidded eyes and smiled wryly. "Don't worry about it, kid. You go back to sleep. We can talk tomorrow."

Sam smiled wearily. He held out a hand and fumbled around until Dean gripped it. Then Sam's eyelids fluttered and closed and he sank back into sleep, hand still clinging to Dean's.

"I know promises don't mean dick, Sammy," Dean whispered. "But I promise you, I'm gonna be a better brother." He leaned over and pressed a light kiss to Sam's forehead. "I'm not gonna lose you, too."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When Caleb came in towards dawn, both Winchesters were sleeping soundly, Dean no longer on the armchair, but curled up on the bed next to his brother, the afghan draped over them both.

Caleb gave a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. "'Bout freaking time," he said sleepily, and went back to bed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	7. Chapter 7

Four years later - Dean is 22. Sam is 18.

OOOOOOOOOO

Slamming the front door, Sam shook his head sharply and droplets of rain scattered around the hall. "Bobby?"

"In the kitchen!"

"Sorry I'm late!" Sam called back, kicking off his muddy boots. "I stayed late to talk to Jeff. He enlisted in the Marines!" Hanging his wet jacket on the coat rack, he went on toward the kitchen, rattling on excitedly. "He leaves right after graduation. I think he talked Joey into enlisting, too - "

POP!

Bobby, a wide smile on his face and holding a wildly foaming champagne bottle, laughed loudly as Sam staggered back in surprise. "Hey, college boy!"

"What?" Sam's expressive hazel eyes went wide. "What?"

Chuckling at the stunned expression on Sam's face, Bobby filled two waiting glasses with the sparkling wine. Eyes happy and proud, he nodded toward an official-looking letter on the table. "Take a look."

Sam took a hesitant step forward. "Did you open it?"

"I didn't need to. Go ahead."

Gingerly, as if it might explode, Sam picked up the letter and opened it. Easing out the single sheet of paper, he read it through quickly. Then once more, slowly.

"Well?" Bobby said, impatiently, holding out a glass.

Ignoring the champagne, Sam threw the letter up in the air and grabbed Bobby in a ferocious hug, lifting him off the floor and jouncing him madly. "I'm in, Bobby! I'm in!"

A smooshed Bobby managed to keep hold of the glass, but most of the champagne splashed out over the both of them. "Put me down, ya idjit! This stuff's twenty dollars a bottle! Have some respect!"

Laughing, Sam set him down and retrieved the crumpled and damp letter from the floor.

Bobby poured another glass and shoved it at him. "I'm damned proud of you, son."

"I couldn't have done it without you," Sam answered, eyes dreaming, his brilliant smile lighting the room. "Damn, Bobby! I can't believe it!"

"You kidding?" Bobby scoffed. "After twelve years of straight A's? They're lucky to get you. Now, let's drink to it." The two drained their glasses and Bobby refilled them. "You gonna call Dean, let him know?"

"Uh uh." Sam grinned. "He'll be here this weekend. I can't wait to see his face when I tell him I got a full ride to Stanford!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Sam stared up in mute horror as the flames wrapped around his mother. She tried to scream but her lungs drew in more fire and her cry died unspoken. Hair crackling around her in a fiery nimbus, lovely hands clawing the air, drowning in pain and fear, her eyes locked on her son's._

_"Mom!" ___

_Flame consumed her. ___

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO __

Sam bolted upright in bed, a cry of fear and horror caught in his throat. Gasping for breath, his eyes flashed to the ceiling, seeking his mother's eyes.

Nothing.

The room was dark, the night quiet. The ceiling, just a ceiling.

It's just a dream. He passed a trembling hand over his face. Another damned dream. Sam reached out and flipped on the bedside lamp, then lay back on the bed. Shivering with reaction and cold, he pulled the covers up over himself, but couldn't seem to get warm. And he could not get that charred, agonized face out of his head. Tortured blue eyes staring into his, then melting and dripping down ravaged cheeks. A sudden and violent wave of nausea swept over him. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he jumped up and ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his dinner came back up in a rush.

Gagging and choking, he vomited until his entire body ached, then huddled over the toilet, aware and grateful that Bobby must not have come to bed yet, or he'd be at the bathroom door, checking up on him.

When his stomach finally settled down, Sam flushed the toilet and washed up, brushing his teeth and cleaning away the reek of vomit. He avoided the mirror. He was not in the mood for self-revelation. He didn't want to think about why his dreams were forcing to watch his mother die, over and over again.

But damn it! Five times this month! Five times he'd relived the horror of his mother's final moments. At first he'd thought it was simply the stress of final exams and waiting to hear back from Stanford. But school was finished now, and Stanford a lock.

So why? Why this? Why now?

His mother's face rose up before him again and he chopped it off.

No way. Screw bed. If he went back to sleep now, the dream would come right back. If he stayed awake for a while, probably, maybe, it would back off. At least for tonight. He could try to figure it out tomorrow.

So, coffee. He needed coffee. A lot of it. And if Bobby asked why he was still up, he'd just say he was too excited about Stanford to sleep.

Wide awake now and determined to stay that way, Sam headed downstairs. He heard Bobby's voice (on the phone?) and bypassed the kitchen, going straight to the study. Maybe Bobby would like some coffee, too. And, if he wasn't mistaken, there was some apple pie in the fridge.

A few feet from the study door, Sam heard Dean's voice inside and he broke into a wide smile. His brother had gotten here early! Awesome! Time to break the news about college!

Then Dean's voice blasted through the open door and Sam's smile fell away.

An instant later, the smile dropped off his face.

"Damn it, how am I even supposed to look at Sam with all this shit screaming in my head!"

There was a low murmur from Bobby, followed by a bitter laugh from Dean.

"You think I don't know that? Jesus, Bobby, he was only six months old when Mom died. I know it wasn't his fucking fault!"

Sam's heart gave a loud thump in his chest. Slowly, carefully, he peered inside the study. Bobby and his brother were sitting in front of the fireplace, their backs to the door.

Bobby laid a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "Demons lie, son," he said firmly. "The only thing they like better than killing is screwing with people's heads."

"It wasn't lying!" Dean said stubbornly. "By the time I finished with it, it was beggin' to tell me the truth."

"It's impossible, Dean," Bobby insisted. "There's no damned way –"

"Damn it, you think I want to believe it?" Dean slammed a hand down on his thigh. "Demon blood! Jesus Christ! That yellow-eyed fucker fed my baby brother demon blood!"

Sam blanched and stepped away from the door. Demon blood? _Demon blood? ___

Putting a shaking hand on the wall, he took a breath with lungs that felt suddenly cramped and tried to hear past the sudden roaring in his ears.

"Bobby, I - has Sam said anything to you about having weird dreams? Visions?"

"Don't you think I would've mentioned something like that?" Bobby said acerbically. "Drink your damned coffee. We gotta figure out what to do and you being drunk on your ass ain't gonna help."

"What the hell can we do? It's not like we can replace Sammy's blood!" Dean groaned. "God, Bobby, when he finds out . . ."

"He's not gonna find out," Bobby said harshly. "Finding out that demon killed his mom, your mom, to get to him? And the same one likely killed your dad? What do you think that would do to him? Look what it's doing to you! Hell, no! We don't tell him!"

Something that sounded dangerously close to a sob came out of Dean.

"Bobby, I –I found one of the other kids the demon poisoned. She – that's why I asked about the visions. She went crazy, killed her whole family. I had to – Bobby, I can't - Sam – I can't –"

Sam sagged against the wall, shock nearly sending him to his knees. Oh, God. It can't be true. It can't, I'm not, please, I'm not a demon.

Confused and panicked, desperate to get away before they saw him, he stumbled away from the study, Dean's panic-stricken voice covering the sound of his retreat.

Out, out, gotta get out!

Hands clumsy, Sam fumbled open the bolt on the front door and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. The night was bitter cold, but he didn't feel it, couldn't feel anything. A merciful, welcome numbness was taking over his body. He stood on the porch, arms hanging limply at his sides, staring blankly into the night sky.

Demon blood.

This was it. The Damocles sword he'd felt hanging over him his entire life. Not the existence of monsters. Not the death of his parents, or the constant fear of losing Dean.

This sword, this blade, was his destiny. His blood was polluted; his life, some demon's crucible.

The reason for the dream was now clear. Their mother had burned for him. Her agony lay on his head.

And Dad. Gone. Dead. For what - for Sam? How the hell was he supposed to live with that?

A familiar growling pain nestled in the back of his head and he absently wondered if he should go back into the house for his meds.

No. Not this time. Fighting back the inertia that held him, he stepped heavily off of the porch and onto the drive.

No more drugs.

He'd been fighting his migraines for years, hiding under the protection of opiates and painkillers. Now, according to Dean, it seemed the headaches might be something more than a chemical imbalance. He'd said something about a girl having visions; visions that drove her to murder.

It couldn't be a coincidence. The migraines, his dreams - they had to be connected. But were they the precursors to visions? To insanity? Sam shuddered at the thought of what that could mean, not just for him, but for everyone around him.

Perhaps the answer to the horror lay underneath the pain. If he rode it out, maybe he could find that answer, map a way out of this.

Or maybe his head would explode and none of this would matter anymore.

The pressure in the back of his head morphed into pain and spread into his temples. Sam gave a little choked whimper and lost his balance, bumping into the Impala parked in front of the house and nearly falling to the ground.

Panting, he fumbled his way to a door handle and managed to get it open, falling into the back seat. As he lay there, moaning and helpless, the pain ratcheted up yet another notch, worse than he'd let himself feel in years, and his fingers dug into the worn seat. Hurts, hurts!

No. No more goddamn drugs. He would be strong. He would let the pain free, let it take him. When the storm had passed, maybe something would be left behind, something that would let him know why he'd been chosen for this hell. Why his family had been all but destroyed.

And if he found out something that he couldn't live with, he would deal with it. Not Dean. Not Bobby.

The growl in his head rose to a roar. Sam dove into the pain.

OOO

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOO

While Dean dragged himself up to bed, Bobby made his usual rounds of the house, making sure all the windows and doors were locked and warded.

He ran into trouble at the very beginning of his check. The front door was not only unbolted, it wasn't even locked.

He opened the door cautiously and peered outside. No one there. Just the family vehicles sitting dark and silent. The night was dead quiet. Not even the sound of cars passing on the nearby highway.

He frowned and shut the door, locking and bolting it.

Had Sam gone out? He didn't usually go out this late. And definitely not without saying something first. Besides, his car was still out front.

Uneasy, Bobby went quickly upstairs and looked inside Sam's room. The bedside lamp was on and the bed rumpled, but the room was empty.

An ugly suspicion rising, Bobby's unease progressed quickly to 'oh shit'. He searched the rest of the upstairs rooms, peeking in at the now sleeping Dean, and then ran back downstairs and searched the rest of the house, including the basement and panic room.

No Sam.

Moving very fast now, internal alarm shrieking, he ran back up to Dean's room, where the young man lay snoring loudly on top of his covers.

"Dean." Bobby shook him. "Dean! Wake up!"

"Go 'way!"

"Damn it, wake up!"

Dean groaned and opened his eyes, blinking at him owlishly, still half drunk. "What?"

"Where's your brother?"

"Bed. Bathroom?" Closing his eyes, Dean rolled onto his stomach, snuggling into his pillow.

"No," Bobby said, exasperated. "Dean, I can't find him!"

"What?" Dean mumbled.

"Sam's gone!"

That woke him up. Dean rolled back over and propped himself up on his elbows. "What about his car?"

"It's still outside."

The two men stared at each other, each thinking the same thing.

"Shit, Bobby. Did he hear us talking?"

"We gotta find him."

OOO

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOO

The scrapyard was just too freaking big. They'd been searching for over an hour, separately and together, and still, no sign of Sam. Truth was, they could've walked right by him and not seen him, if Sam didn't want to be found.

"Would he have left without his car?" Dean carried a big mag flashlight.

"Who knows?" Bobby answered distractedly. He stared back toward the house. "I'm gonna go check inside, see if he went back in." The older man started jogging back toward the house.

Dean shone the mag lite around the yard closer to the house. The light passed over the Impala and he paused, frowning. Was the back door open? He strode over to the car, pulled the door open wider and stopped when he saw Sam curled up and unconscious on the back seat, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"Sam!" Dean turned and yelled toward the house. "Bobby!"

Frantic, Dean crawled inside the car and shone the light on his brother. Sam was dead white and drenched with sweat, even as he shivered from the cold. Dean could see dark trails of blood leading from his ears and nose. "Oh, man." He touched him gently. "Sammy?"

Sam didn't stir.

Dean heard the sound of Bobby's hurrying footsteps and soon the older man appeared at the car door, holding a medicine kit and looking grim. "Come on out, Dean," he ordered. "I need to get in there with him."

Dean started to argue, then gave it up and clambered out. Bobby climbed in and took Sam's pulse, then quickly rolled up the boy's sleeve and wiped a small part of his arm clean with an alcohol swab.

As the sharp smell of the alcohol filled the car, Sam opened his eyes to narrow slits. "Bobby?" he mumbled.

Bobby smiled with relief. "Hey, kid." He smoothed the sweat-darkened hair back from Sam's forehead. "You're okay, son. Hang in there." He tied off Sam's arm and brought out the hypodermic needle.

"Bobby, no . . ." Sam pulled his arm away weakly. No.

Puzzled, Bobby said, "It's just your medicine." He readied the injection, then gasped in surprise when Sam clumsily slapped it away. The hypo fell to the floor of the Impala, drug squirting out onto the rug. "Sam!"

"No," Sam said thickly. "Don't – don't need it." Determined to prove it, he struggled to sit up. Bobby helped him, exchanging a concerned glance with Dean, who was peering anxiously into the car.

Resolutely not looking at either of them, Sam tried to steady himself. It was true. Not only did he not want the meds, he didn't need them. He was exhausted, cold, reeking of blood and sweat, and massively fucked up by the revelations of the night but the headache was gone.

And it had worked. Without the drugs to dull it, the monstrous pain had peaked and eventually receded. And with its retreat, a waking vision had taken its place. He knew, now, why his mother had died. Why his father had disappeared. He knew everything.

Now he'd have to tell Bobby, and Dean.

But not tonight. Not tonight.

He pulled himself slowly out of the car, ignoring the hand Dean offered and holding on to the side of the Impala until he felt like he could move without falling flat on his face.

"Sam?" Dean said tentatively, ready to grab his brother if he looked like falling.

"I'm okay." Moving slowly - so fucking tired - Sam started back toward the house, the other two men following close behind.

His legs gave up the ghost on the steps to the house and Dean was beside him instantly, helping him inside and onto the couch in the study near the dying fire.

While Bobby went into the kitchen, Dean laid a blanket over Sam and woke the fire up; after a few minutes, the study started to warm up.

Lying quietly on the couch, Sam could hear Bobby rattling around in the kitchen. And he could feel his big brother hovering near him, anxiety virtually vibrating out of him. The chances of being able to put this conversation off until tomorrow were rapidly fading.

"Dean," he said finally, "I'm okay."

Dean dropped down on the couch beside him. "We should talk about - stuff."

Sam shook his head. "Not tonight. I just want to sleep."

"I can't believe it!" Dean tried to smile. "SamWinchester passing up an opportunity to talk about his feelings?"

Sam's face closed off and Dean cursed himself. "Sam, I know it's bad, but we'll figure it out. We'll find him, we'll find the demon –"

Giving in to the inevitable, Sam sat up unsteadily. "And then what? Kill him? You think that's gonna make me less of a monster?"

"Damn it, don't you say that!" Bobby said angrily from the door. He was carrying a pan of warm water and a washcloth. "You're not a monster! A little demon blood doesn't make you a monster!"

Sam dropped his eyes. Reining in his temper, Bobby came over and sat down on Sam's other side. He started to wipe away the blood on the boy's face, but Sam took the washcloth from him and started to clean himself up. "Thanks, Bobby."

"How's the head?" Bobby asked, eying him. "And don't just say fine or I'll smack ya."

"It's okay, Bobby."

Bobby raised his fist suggestively.

"Okay, it was pretty bad earlier," Sam admitted, "but it's good now." He dropped the rag back into the pan.

"Good. So," Bobby said offhandedly. "You heard?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I heard."

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said miserably. "I didn't want you to find out that way."

Sam's reply was muffled. "Not your fault." He took the pan from Bobby and started to stand up to take it back to the kitchen, but faltered and sank back down.

Bobby grabbed the pan before it could do more than splash a little water over the side and set it hurriedly on the floor. "Yeah, you're okay," he said sarcastically. "Stay down, before you fall down."

Sam rested his head on the back of the couch. "I'm just tired," he repeated. "Just – really tired."

"You want to go to your room?" Dean asked.

The spectre of his mother on the bedroom ceiling rose before him. "I'd rather sleep here," Sam said hastily.

"I'll go grab you a couple of blankets," Dean said. He started to get up and Sam, to his own surprise, grabbed Dean's arm and held him there. He didn't say anything, just held him. "What's up?" Dean said, surprised.

Sam opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Sammy?"

Sam finally got it out, hardly able to believe he was asking. "What was her name?"

Dean stilled. He didn't have to ask who. He knew damn well. "It doesn't matter."

Sam's grip tightened. "It matters, Dean."

"Why, Sam?" Bobby protested. "Do you think he wanted to kill her?"

Sam kept his eyes on Dean. "Please."

"What the hell good will talking about her do?"

Sam simply stared at him pleadingly.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Sam, the only thing you need to know is that when I found her, she was painting a mural on the living room wall with her mother's blood. No matter what she was before, that's what she was at the end. When I shot her." Dean held Sam's gaze. "And that's not gonna fucking happen to you!"

The two brothers stared at each other silently, then Sam crumpled and collapsed against Dean, silent tears running down his face.

Dean took Sam in a strong hug, murmuring soft reassurances.

Bobby, tears in his own eyes, patted Sam's back helplessly.

After a long while, hiding his face against Dean's shoulder, Sam started to talk.


	8. Chapter 8

OOOOOOOOOO

Trying to be quiet, Dean peeked in the study door. The couch was empty. Trying not to give in to the alarm that instantly flared in his gut, he strode quickly to the kitchen, where Bobby was breaking eggs into a big plastic bowl.

"You seen Sam this morning?" he asked.

Bobby cast a somewhat cranky glance over his shoulder. "And a good morning to you, too!"

"Yeah, yeah, good morning!" Dean said impatiently. "Seen Sam?"

"Upstairs, taking a shower." Bobby broke the last of the eggs into the bowl, then started to beat hell out of them. "Leave him be."

"I just want to make sure he's okay!" Dean protested.

"Wait until he comes down." Bobby sighed at the stubborn expression that came over Dean's face. "Come on, boy. Think. This ain't about you. Your brother's got a lot to deal with right now. He's feelin' raw. You go all mother hen on him, just gonna put his back up."

"Bobby, I just – "

"He'll come down when he's ready," Bobby interrupted, holding Dean's gaze. "Give him that."

"Bobby –" Hell. A little sulkily, Dean went to the kitchen table and dropped down onto a chair, watching as Bobby set the eggs aside and started on pancake batter.

Fine. He'd wait.

For now.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hair still damp from his shower - which hadn't done a damned thing to wake him up - Sam sat on the edge of his bed, staring morosely into space.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Everything's gone. Everything. He had nothing. Nothing but the murky prospect of revenge against the demon that had destroyed his family.

Destroyed him.

Because Sam might be breathing, but he was the next best thing to a dead man walking. Who eventually pulled the trigger was only a question of time, chance and luck.

He'd thought last night of ending it now, himself, but he couldn't do that to Dean and Bobby. At least, not now. If it became absolutely necessary, he'd do it, try to make it look like an accident. But not - not just yet.

They'd be watching him now. They had to. As much as they loved him, they had to make sure he didn't fall in line with the demon's plans, whatever the hell those were. They had to see he didn't turn evil and start killing everything that crossed his path - starting with them.

He ducked away from that sickening thought, but it sidled back in, poking him in the ribs with a nasty snicker.

How are you gonna stop it? Crazy people don't know they're crazy!

Oh, God. Sam slumped back onto the bed, curling himself into a tight little ball.

How would he know if he was going crazy?

Had that girl known what she was doing when she cut her mother up?

Had there been anything left of her humanity when she'd started that monstrous blood portrait? Or had it all been burned away by the demon blood, leaving nothing inside her but insanity and murder?

Questions.

Nothing but questions, and the answers, even if he had them, meant less than nothing. Because even if they did manage to send the demon back to hell, it wouldn't take the taint out of Sam's blood.

He wasn't possessed. He couldn't be exorcised. Sam was a monster, no matter what Dean and Bobby said.

Sooner or later, they'd know that. Then what would he be?

An obligation. A burden.

And a damned dangerous one, likely to get them both shot.

Because, damn it, it was inevitable that another hunter would discover his secret. Dean had. Then the word would go out and the entire hunting community would be after his ass, since hunters tended to see things in black and white.

Good or evil. Human or monster. And Sam Winchester, boy with the demon blood, fell firmly into the monster category.

It wasn't just his life. Dean and Bobby were screwed too, because, burden or not, they'd never let anyone hurt Sam. He'd have to end it before that happened.

Unless, of course, he'd already gone nuts by then and killed them, or they'd killed him, or any of the other completely bat shit crazy things that could happen in his now completely fucked up life.

He'd known his whole life about the things that go bump in the night, but this – being fed demon blood in his crib, drafted into an army of "special" children fated to destroy the world? Maybe he was already crazy!

Closing his eyes against frightened tears, he pressed his face into his pillow with a muffled sob. If only he could sleep, and wake to find out this had all been just a bad dream . . .

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Breakfast had been eaten and the dishes washed.

Bobby was outside but Dean still sat at the kitchen table, drinking his third cup of coffee of the morning. Maybe the fourth, he didn't really remember. He was starting to feel a little twitchy from all the caffeine, but damn, he hadn't slept at all last night! He needed something to keep him awake.

He drained his cup and eyed the coffeemaker which, he knew, had enough in it for one more cup. Better not. Sam's gonna want some when he comes downstairs.

If he ever does, Dean thought irritably.

He struggled with himself for a few more minutes, then heaved himself to his feet. Screw it. I'll make some more. He drank the rest of the coffee, busied himself making a new pot and then, while it brewed, found himself at the table again with nothing to do.

Damn it.

It had been more than three hours now! Scowling, he rolled his head around in a joint-crackling circle, trying to relieve some of the tension.

He should go upstairs. Kid was probably up there stewing, scared to come downstairs. He'd be doing Sam a favor, going up to check on him.

Right?

Sure.

Bobby'd buy that. Probably.

A faint sound from inside the house caught his attention. Couldn't be Bobby. He could hear the faint sound of banging out in the yard as the older man dismembered one of the old junkers.

Sammy? Dean went to the bottom of the stairs and listened.

Dead quiet.

Great. Now he was starting to hear things!

Fuck it. Time to find something to do besides sit and wait.

He'd go for a drive, maybe into town. Just for an hour or two, get the cobwebs out of his brain. Maybe chat up a pretty lady. Dean grinned wickedly, thinking of a particularly buxom waitress he'd hooked up with on his last visit.

He was almost out the front door when he heard the sound again and this time recognized it.

Sam.

Without hesitation Dean turned and sprinted for the stairs. As he reached the top and headed for Sam's room, he heard a low moan and rounding into the boy's room, saw his brother curled up on his bed, a low choking cry of grief tearing out of him.

It had been a lot of years since he'd gentled his brother out of a bad dream, but the pain in Sam's voice tore at him, just as it always had. Without hesitation, Dean went to him and sat down beside him, reaching out to push sweat-drenched hair back from his eyes. "Hey, Sam, wake up."

His brother just curled in tighter, tears leaking from under closed eyelids, stifled whimpers escaping him. He's caught in some horrific nightmare that Dean knows can't possibly be any worse than what his real life has become. Damn it, freaking kid can't get any peace even when he's asleep.

"Sammy, come on, wake up. Wake up!" Dean shook his shoulder again, harder. This time Sam woke and stared up at him, dark eyes confused and groggy.

"Wha - Dean? What's wrong?"

"You were having a nightmare," Dean said matter-of-factly. Nope, no mother-henning going on here.

"Oh." Sam's cheeks were damp. Had he been crying? Mortified, he wiped the tears away, trying to ignore the wicked ache in his skull. "Sorry."

"No sweat," Dean said, carefully casual. "Listen, Bobby made a ton of pancake batter. I'll cook up a stack for you. Maybe some bacon if you ask real nice."

Sam turned a little green. "Not really hungry," he said hastily. "But thanks."

"Sorry, no's not an option." Draping a steadying arm around Sam's shoulders, Dean pulled him up and guided him toward the bedroom door. "Don't worry. I'll eat what you don't."

OOOOOOOOOO

Right up 'til the time Dean put a plate in front of him, Sam was sure he wouldn't be able to eat a thing. He'd try, yeah, but odds were he'd eat a few mouthfuls and then have to make a break for the bathroom.

So when Dean sat down opposite him and stared steadily at him, practically daring him not to eat, Sam sighed resignedly and dug in.

Two bites in, he realized he was starving. Soon after that his plate was empty and he was chasing his leftover maple syrup with the last piece of bacon.

Dean, who'd watched in amusement as Sam plowed through the food, said mockingly, "So, not hungry, huh?"

Sam shoved the bacon into his mouth. "Bite me," he mumbled.

"The way you went through those pancakes, you're more likely to bite me. You want some more?"

"No." Sam swallowed, then burped. "I'm good."

The front door slammed and Bobby tromped into the house and straight into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw Sam, then came over, laid a rough hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Sam nodded and Bobby raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Kinda tired," Sam admitted reluctantly. "And my head was hurting when I got up, but it's better now."

A smile creased Bobby's weathered face. "Good."

"There's still a little batter left," Dean put in. "You want some more?"

"No, thanks, I'm pancaked out." Bobby gave Sam's shoulder another pat and went to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer. He looked inquiringly at Dean, tossed him a can at the affirmative.

"Sam?"

"Pancakes and beer?" Sam shuddered.

"Beer works with everything, Sammy," Dean said. "Except – " his nose wrinkled – "Tapioca."

"I'm guessing you know that from experience," Bobby said, pulling the makings for a sandwich out of the fridge and setting it on the counter.

"Well, beer and chocolate pudding worked." Dean shrugged. "Who knew?"

Sam, draining the last of his orange juice, almost choked. "Oh, man, gross!"

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it, Samantha," Dean retorted, grinning.

Sam pretended to throw up, then yelped when Dean kicked him under the table.

Bobby smiled as he started construction on his sandwich. It was good to see his boys play. Good to know they could play, after last night. Then he remembered about their early morning wake up call. "Dean, did you tell Sam about Caleb?"

Dean scowled and Sam said, concerned, "What?"

"Nothing's wrong," Bobby started. "He's just – "

"Insane!" Dean snapped. "Completely friggin' crazy."

When Bobby stared at him reprovingly, Dean protested, "Well, hell, what else would you call it? Caleb getting married? Playing daddy? If that's not some crazy shit, nothing is!"

"What?" Sam goggled at him.

Dean pointed at Sam, then looked triumphantly at Bobby. "See!"

"Caleb's getting married?" Sam gasped.

Dean looked like he'd bitten into something nasty. "You 'member that chick he was hanging with in Arizona last year?"

"Diane?" Sam asked blankly. "He's marrying Diane?"

Dean scowled. "Yeah."

"Diane's pregnant?"

"Not anymore," Dean said darkly. "She had the baby six months ago. Little Caleb Freaking Junior."

"What?" Sam's mouth was agape with shock. "When did Caleb find out?"

"When he went to visit her last month," Dean said. Anticipating Sam's next question, he went on, "She said she didn't tell him because she didn't want to trap him into marriage or some shit like that."

Bobby cuffed Dean on the side of the head. "Knock it off." He sat down at the table, took a bite out of his sandwich. "It happens," he mumbled.

"Wow." Sam thought that over for a minute. "Is Caleb still going to hunt?"

"I don't know." Dean looked grim. "They're talking."

Silence fell over the kitchen. Hunting and kids – not a good mix, as they had good reason to know. They'd known a few hunters with families but, more often than not, hunters were single.

Of course, sometimes, like with Bobby, the death of a family member was the reason some hunters got into hunting in the first place. And if you lost a loved one to the creepy crawlies, it could make you a little gun shy about putting someone else in the line of fire.

Sam looked a little cautiously at Dean, seeing clearly his dissatisfaction with the situation. Dean and Caleb had been partners for, what, seven years? Since Dean was fifteen. No wonder Dean was upset. "Are you mad?"

Dean's mouth was tight. "Maybe. A little." He shrugged. "Whatever happens, happens. He'll hunt, or he won't." He drank the last of his beer, tossed the can into the trash. "We've got more important things to talk about."

No. Not yet.

"Do we have to?" Sam looked down at the floor, too long dark hair falling over his embarrassed eyes.

"We don't have to talk about it now, but . . ." Dean trailed off, casting a sideways glance at Bobby.

"It's just – " Sam gave a nervous little laugh. "It feels good to just sit here and talk about normal stuff."

Dean snorted and Sam added quickly, "Not that anything about Caleb getting married is normal, but –" he hesitated, plunged on. "At least it's not a freak show with demon blood and psychic armies."

Dean and Bobby looked at each other, but before either of them could respond, a knock at the front door dropped into the brief silence.

With a worried look at Sam, Bobby went to answer it.

Cursing himself for his clumsiness, Sam gathered up his dishes and carried them to the sink. Had he said something wrong? What? Freak show? Demon blood? Hell, was not wanting to talk about it right now so wrong? Christ, he felt like he'd been ripped apart and then put together wrong. All he wanted was a little time to get used to the whole thing. A little breathing space before the rest of the world moved on without him.

He looked over at Dean. His brother was staring moodily at the table, fingers tapping an agitated rhythm. Heart sinking, Sam turned back to the sink.

"Sam!"

A tall, slim pretty woman, dressed in jeans and sweater, her dark hair drawn back into a casual ponytail, was preceding Bobby into the kitchen. Smile warm and wide, she plunked down a large, foiled-covered plate on the table and enveloped Sam in a warm, hard hug.

"Mrs. Foreman!" Sam said, astonished. Aware of Dean's barely concealed smirk, he awkwardly hugged her back, saying, "Mrs. Foreman, this is my brother, Dean."

Still smiling, happiness a warm glow on her face, she released Sam and crossed to Dean, holding out her hand. "Emma. Pleased to meet you."

"I tutored her daughter a little the last couple years," Sam said in quick explanation, eager to get the speculative gleam out of his brother's eye.

"A little!" Emma exclaimed. "Sam, you're the reason Crissi's graduating with straight A's! And a big part of the reason she's been accepted to Augustana!"

"I know, she told me last night. It's a great school."

Tears glimmered in her blue eyes. "Sam, I can never, ever thank you enough." She went to the table and lifted the foil on the plate, revealing a huge pile of cookies.

Dean's eyes bugged open wide at the sight and the smell, an overwhelming combination of sugar, chocolate and peanut butter, made his mouth water. "Holy sh –" A hard look from Bobby caught him in mid-word and he ground to a halt, finally saying weakly, "Holy moley."

Blushing, Sam started to protest and she shook a finger at him. "Now, Sam! They're only cookies! I just wanted to show my appreciation for all you've done."

"I'm hopeless with math," she said laughingly to Dean. "I couldn't help Crissi and I couldn't afford to hire a tutor. Sam spent so much time with her. He was kind and patient - it made all the difference in the world." She beamed at Sam. "And now I hear you have news of your own!"

Sam's smile froze.

"A scholarship to Stanford!" she went on brightly, oblivious to Dean's expression of confusion. "You-all must be so proud!" she said to Bobby.

Bobby nodded, eyes warm but his smile a little stiff. "Yes, very proud." He nodded at the table. "Would you like to sit down, have some coffee?"

"Oh no, thank you." She looked at her watch. "I've got to get going. Crissi and I are going shopping this afternoon to shop for school clothes. College clothes!" she amended gleefully. "And I still have a couple of errands to run before we leave."

Emma gave Sam a kiss, nodded a friendly good-bye to Dean and then Bobby escorted the still happily chattering woman to the door.

Sam turned blindly back to the sink, filling it with soapy water, feeling his brother's eyes on him the whole time.

"So. Stanford, huh?" Dean's voice was quiet.

"Uh huh." Sam started washing the dishes, placing them in the other side of the double sink for rinsing.

"You didn't tell me." There was a faintly accusing tone to Dean's voice.

At the kitchen door, Bobby said, "We just found out a couple days ago."

The subtext was clear. With Dean's arrival, there had been more important things on the table than Sam's now clearly-defunct plans for college.

Sam started to rinse, setting the clean dishes in the drainer. "Good news about Crissi, huh?" he said, voice determinedly cheerful. "I'm really happy for her. She's going to be a teacher."

"Oh, screw this!" Dean turned to Bobby. "Damn it, there's gotta be a way –"

"No!" Dropping a plate back into the sink, Sam spun to face him. "What if the demon comes for me at Stanford? Do you think campus security can protect me? Do you think that bastard cares about collateral damage? And what happens –" his breath caught in his throat. "What if you find me painting the walls with someone's blood?" He tried a weak smile. "Pretty sure they'd expel me for that."

"Sam, you're stronger than she was," Dean argued stubbornly. "There's no way – "

"Dean, wait. He's right." Bobby said reluctantly. "Besides, the demon isn't the only thing we gotta worry about. If you found out about Sam, don't you think some other hunter is gonna figure it out?"

It only took Dean a second to get the implication. "Any hunter comes anywhere near Sam will be fucking dead," he said savagely.

"And how's that gonna work if he's at Stanford?" Bobby asked.

That shut Dean up. But not for long. "I could go with him, I can get a job – "

"Dean, come on!" Bobby snapped. "How the hell is that even going to work –"

"Stop! Just stop!"Sam shouted desperately. "I don't want to talk about this now!" He fought for calm, for control. "Give me today. Just one damned day to pretend none of this ever happened. One day where I – we – can at least pretend to be normal!"

Silence hung thick in the room for a moment, then Dean reached over and snagged a couple of cookies off the table. He bit into one – peanut butter chocolate chip – and sighed happily. "Oh, man, if that woman weren't already married, I'd totally be hitting on her!"

Following his lead, Bobby picked up a cookie. "I just remembered. She's divorced."

"You sure?" Dean said with interest. "You think she'd date me?"

"Dude, that is totally age-inappropriate!" Sam groaned, trying to hide his relief. He leaned past Dean, hooked a couple of the treats for himself.

"Hold on, I've got an idea." Bobby slapped Dean's hand away as he dived in for more cookies. "How about we play a little poker? We can use the cookies as table stakes."

Dean laughed. "Sure you don't want to just give me the whole plate? I'm gonna win 'em anyway."

"Says you," Sam scoffed. "Not how I remember the last game we had."

"Me either," Bobby snickered.

"Oh, hey, Sam," Dean said with an air of discovery, green eyes dancing mischievously. "If you don't want me to date Emma, how about Crissi? Is she as pretty as her mom?"

"Deeeaan."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said with satisfaction. "She's hot all right. I'll bet she bakes, too." He sighed blissfully. "Hot chicks baking cookies. Hey! I wonder if she does pie! Oooo, baby!"

With a growl, Sam tackled him and both boys went down to the floor, Bobby shouting with laughter above them.

Cursing, laughing, rolling back and forth, almost knocking Bobby over a couple of times, they knocked hard against the table and it started to collapse.

"Watch out, boys, watch out!"

"What?"

"Hey!"

"Catch 'em!"

"Balls!"

"The cookies!"

"No! Oh, man!"

"You idjits!"

…

…

…

"Well. Won't be the first time I've eaten off the floor."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	9. EPILOGUE

OOOOOOOOOO

A low growl ghosted through the trees.

Gun in hand, Dean turned in a slow circle, scanning for the monster, but the moon had gone behind a cloud and he could see nothing.

Another growl, off to the right. With a taunting smile, Dean let out a series of short, sharp whistles.

"Here, Rover!"

"Fido!"

"Spot!"

An angry, hacking cough, this time to the left.

"Hey! Fluffy! Come on out, you little bitch!"

The werewolf broke out of the trees behind him, a silent blur of teeth and claws. Dean twisted away from it, throwing himself to the side. Gun leveled at the snarling face, he pulled the trigger just before he hit the ground and his bullet struck the monster between the eyes. It fell to the ground at the hunter's feet without another sound.

Before Dean could get to his feet, a second, much larger, monster exploded out of the darkness, shrieking with rage.

Dean began to swing his gun around, knowing he was too slow, too late, too close - shit shit shit - !

Crack!

The second wolf fell to the ground, growling and snapping savagely at the air. A second later Sam stood over the corpse, sending a second silver bullet into the massive creature.

After checking both monsters to make sure they were dead, Sam reached down and hauled Dean to his feet. "Fluffy? Really?"

Dean grinned cockily. "Worked, didn't it?"

"If you call pissing off an already rabid werewolf working, no, make that two werewolves, then yeah, I guess it did." Sam shook his head, looking over at the second wolf, which was shifting. "Good thing I hung back while you played bait."

Dean grinned. "Knew they couldn't resist this sweet ass." He stared down at the larger wolf, which had finished changing back to human. "Hey, look at that. You were right. It was the deputy."

"Dean. Oh, God, Dean."

Dean turned quickly. His brother had moved to stand over the corpse of the second, smaller, wolf, which had completed its shift. It was a young boy. He couldn't have been more than twelve years old.

"Oh, hell." Dean stared down at the boy, grimacing. "Must be his son."

White-faced, Sam nodded. He took in a shaky breath, but couldn't manage to speak. Tears shone in his eyes.

Dean laid a hand on Sam's arm. "We didn't have any choice. They would've kept on killing

Sam nodded. "I know," he choked. A few tears escaping, he turned away. "I'll get some wood." He only made it a few steps before his stomach rebelled and he fell to his knees and was violently ill.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The drive back to the motel was quiet. The aftermath of the hunt tonight had been horrific, to say the least. Dean sent a wary glance across to where his brother sat slumped in the passenger seat. "You all right, Sammy?"

"No, I'm not," Sam answered wearily. "Are you?"

"No, but – " Dean shrugged. "It's not the first time I've had to take out a kid."

"Are you telling me it gets easier?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"No" Dean admitted. "I'm just saying you learn how to handle it. Sammy, tonight sucked, but that kid - "

"He wasn't a kid," Sam interrupted. "I get it. He was a monster, from the minute he killed his first human."

They drove on through the night in silence.

"If you want, we can stop," Dean ventured, a couple of minutes later. "We could both use some rest."

Sam looked at him, confused. "Why? It's better if we get out of Missouri, right?"

When Dean nodded reluctantly, Sam said, a little impatient, "Stop worrying about me! I'm fine. We had a choice. Kill them or let them keep on killing innocent people. I'm fine."

Another few minutes of silence.

"But you know what –" Sam said in a low voice, staring into the darkness of the passing countryside - "It just sucks that the only real option we had was to kill a freaking kid."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They finally stopped at a small motel in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa.

"Why don't you take the first shower?" Dean suggested, tossing his jacket onto the bed. "I'm gonna have a beer, order some pizza. Maybe give Bobby a call."

Sam nodded and hooked some sweats and a t-shirt out of his duffel. "Tell him I said hey."

Dean nodded, already looking through the local phone book for pizza delivery.

Once inside the bathroom, door locked behind him, Sam gave up all pretense of "fine". Dropping his clothing to the floor, he tore off his clothing and started the shower, stepping in and thrusting his face into the stream of water.

After a couple of minutes, he turned off the hot water and turned the cold on full. Shuddering, shaking with cold and guilt, he forced himself to stay under the frigid water, trying to drive the dead boy's face out of his head.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"He seems okay," Dean said. "But Sam's pretty good at hiding stuff."

Bobby snorted. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Dean managed a small laugh. "I guess."

The two men were silent, knowing there really was nothing more to say on the subject. That boy hadn't deserved to die; neither had his father. They hadn't chosen what happened to them.

But then, neither had Sam.

Simply put, sometimes life sucked. You mourned, then got on with it. And, God knew, they'd all had a lot of practice at that.

"I've got news," Bobby said abruptly. "About the demon."

"What?" Dean's eyes were intent. "Bobby, what?"

"I've been talking to the friend of a friend. With what we've got on the bastard so far – "

The bathroom door opened.

"Hold on, Sam's here. I'm gonna put you on speaker." Dean looked over at Sam, dressed in clean clothes, but shivering a little as he rubbed a towel through his still damp hair. "Bobby's got something on the demon."

Sam's hazel eyes widened as he sank down on the bed next to his brother. "Bobby? What do you have?"

"There's this guy named Ash, friend of a friend," Bobby began again. "He's some kinda computer genius, went to MIT before he got kicked out for fighting. Anyway, you remember, from your dad's journal, when the demon shows up, there are usually signs – cattle mutilations, lightning strikes, other weather anomalies – "

"Yeah, we know, Bobby ," Dean interrupted impatiently. "What of it?"

"Ash programmed his computer to keep watch for those signs all across the country. Well, more exactly, he's got it watching for those signs to all show up in the same place at the same time."

The boys stared blankly at the cell phone.

Bobby sighed, guessing from the silence that the boys were clueless. "Idjits. If we get enough warning, we can get to wherever he is before he leaves, and kill the bastard!"

A very short silence.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean whooped. "We've got him!"

"Not yet," Bobby cautioned them. "But we're a hell of a lot closer than we've ever been before."

Sam sat quietly, listening as the other two men talked. He could tell from Bobby's voice and the exhilaration on Dean's face, that he should probably feel a lot happier than he did about this development. But, truthfully, he was a little afraid to let himself believe that this would, could, ever happen. It just seemed like such a long shot.

First, that this guy Ash's plan would work. Second, that they could get to where the demon was before he left. And third, that they could actually kill the bastard. This thing had killed their mom, their dad, and how many other thousands over the centuries? Who were they to think they could end him? It all seemed pretty impossible.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't realize that the phone call had ended until Dean nudged him. "Hey, you awake?"

Sam flushed. "Oh, sure. Just thinking." He tried a grin. "Pretty big news, huh."

"Pretty damned big!" Not fooled for a second, Dean let it go, not up for any more drama tonight. "You leave me any hot water, Princess?"

A little embarrassed by his cold water shower – what, did he think that would absolve him of guilt in the boy's death? – Sam said jokingly, "Not a drop. Guess you're gonna have to wait until morning unless you don't mind cold water."

"You'd better be kidding," Dean said threateningly, shaking his fist. "Or I'll kick your butt all across Iowa - "

There was a loud knock at the door.

"Pizza!" Dean said happily. "Man, I'm freaking starving!"

What about your shower?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "Cold water or not, it's getting pretty ripe in here."

Outraged, Dean took a swipe at him. "Don't eat all the pizza, Sammy, or you're gonna be going out to get me another pie!" Jumping up, he strode quickly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. "And make sure you leave me some beer, you lush!"

Chuckling, Sam went to the door, checking through the curtained window before he opened the door. Paying off the pizza man, he locked up and dropped the pizza box onto the table.

"Better hurry up, Dean!" he called through the bathroom door. "I'm pretty hungry! This pie won't last long!"

At a strangled curse from his brother, Sam laughed, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and flipped on the television, flipping through the channels and listening to the shower run.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean sighed at the sound of his brother turning over in bed.

Again!

Third time in five minutes!

"Damn it, Sam," he growled, raising up on his elbow and glaring at the other bed. "How am I supposed to sleep with you rockin' and rolling over there!"

"Sorry, Dean," Sam said contritely.

Grumbling loudly, Dean punched his pillow into shape and lay down again. "Just go to sleep already!"

"Sorry, Dean. Night."

Sam lasted about five minutes. Then, moving slowly, carefully, he eased over onto his other side.

Dead silence for a few seconds, then Dean sat up and turned on the bedside light. "Okay, what's going on?"

Sam flinched away from the light and his brother's accusing tone. "Nothing!"

"Sam," Dean said warningly. "I'm tired. We've got to be on the road in six hours. Now what the hell is wrong?"

Sam stayed silent for a long minute. "I was thinking about that kid," he said reluctantly.

Dean blew out a short breath. "Should've figured." He waggled his fingers at Sam. "C'mon. Talk."

"I know we had to kill him. It's just, it got me thinking. Me and him are kind of alike and I –" Sam trailed off at the look on Dean's face, then tried again. "Dean, I need you to promise me something."

"What?" Dean said suspiciously.

"No matter what happens, promise you won't let me hurt anyone."

Dean groaned. "Damn it, Sam!"

"That kid didn't ask for what he turned into, any more than I asked that demon to feed me his blood!"

Dean glared at him but Sam plowed on determinedly. "I'm not saying I think anything is going to happen. I just need to know that you're gonna have my back on this, if anything should happen."

"Sam –"

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Sam insisted. "Not you, not Bobby, not anyone."

"Damn it, we're gonna get on top of this. You don't have to worry about this," Dean said heatedly.

"Then it shouldn't be a problem for you to promise," Sam said flatly. Looking at Dean's unhappy face, he tried to lighten the mood. "Jeez, what's the big deal? It's not like I'm asking you to kill me or something."

Dean flinched. "That's not funny."

"Oh, come on, it's a little bit funny." Sam shifted position nervously, nowhere near comfortable with this conversation, but absolutely determined to finish it. "Dean, I'm not planning to go dark side. But we don't know the whole story behind the demon blood yet and you can be damned sure there's more going on than what I got out of that vision. I have to be sure you won't let me hurt anyo—"

"Damn it, Sam, stop!" Dean said agitatedly. "Just stop!"

The two brothers stared at each other. The eldest frightened by the implications of the promise; the other terrified by the absence of it.

"Okay," Dean said finally. "Okay, Sammy. I promise."

Relieved, Sam smiled. "Thanks, Dean. Thanks." Having gotten what he wanted, needed, he snuggled back into bed. In a few minutes, his breathing had evened out and he was sleeping soundly.

It took Dean a lot longer to settle down. Brain fevered with dread and possibilities, he lay still, watching his brother sleep.

At last, he sank into exhausted slumber. His last words, a soft whisper, filled the silence of the room.

"I'm gonna save you, Sammy. If it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna save you."

END

OOOOOOOOOO


End file.
